One of the things I keep meaning to finish and then never actually finishing is what happened the rest of the night of It’s Like Live Porn! With a Lapdance!
Which is actually not even something that would happen any more because now that touching is optional, depending on dancer preference, there are curtains in the lapdance area. For the most part you can only see what’s happening directly across from you, and only guess at what may be happening around you; it’s a lot easier to distract and redirect with only one direction to worry about. I gave a dance Friday and I could hear the girls behind the nearest curtain giggling and slapping each other but without an actual visual the guys don’t get as distracted. It’s really great.
But continuing that episode will have to wait.
Now, to celebrate the drawing to a close of finals–only about 20 more pages to write!–and the fact that I lived through my last presentation with more grace than I thought possible–nothing in my mouth, I only called one classmate by the wrong name and maybe no one noticed but him in the Q&A section, and I didn’t expire or even cough up bloody phlegm on anything until after I’d left the room. Yes, so now I am going to buy this book and read it in bed and hope that I wake up tomorrow entirely cured.
 which gave me a flashback to the days of Hundred Dollar Dave, what a man! Truly worthy of his own post, which will happen someday, I swear. He used to pay us to paddle each other with hairbrushes, among other things, in the bathroom. It was like performance art, the louder you shrieked, the higher your tip.
 I HOPE
 truly I am reaching Marguerite Gautier heights (depths?) of illness, which is all great and romantic and everything since she’s one of my sex worker roots—I take my Romantics far too seriously—but it’s actually stopped being romantic. It’s mostly just horrible and disgusting.
 I was lying to myself when I said books would have to wait until after finals. My appetite for books waits on nothing. Not even grades and my future which is looking more and more like I’ll have to fall back on plan be, Trophy Wife. Luckily enough,